


Hand-to-Hand

by Sidonie



Series: The King's Squire [16]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jon teaches Zahir a bit more about combat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scabbard

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first large chunk of my King's Squire series (stands alone, see "Proposal" for details on how the series works) that is slashy all the way through. Features lots of innuendo and UST, with some steamy kissing at the end. It's slightly silly, as it was inspired by "His Name Is Lancelot," from the musical _Spamalot_. Each chapter begins with some lyrics.

_“Move aside your scabbard”_

\-----

“Take it off.”

Zahir stared. “With all due respect, Sir, why?”

“Because, as that incident at the tournament proved, you are not yet comfortable fighting without a sword. I'm going to teach you some hand-to-hand techniques. So take it off.”

Still more than a little reluctant—he had been wary of disarming ever since his fight—Zahir unbuckled his belt, laying sword and scabbard on a nearby table. He put up his fists as the Shang training masters had taught him.

“And your shirt.”

“ _What_?”

Jon leveled a steely glare at his squire. “If I am to be your knight-master, you must trust me implicitly, and that means being willing to put your well-being in my hands. So the hidden daggers—which I now know you carry, so don't even attempt to deny it—have to go.”

Swallowing hard, Zahir stripped off his shirt and removed the blades at both wrists and the small of his back. He knew what would come next, and so he also removed his boots and stood at the center of the room, wearing only old canvas trousers.

“Good.” The king gave a wolfish smile. “Now we may begin.”


	2. Tabard

_“For underneath your tabard”_

\-----

Jon ran a hand over Zahir's bicep, his light fingers testing the conditioning. “You're in good shape,” he remarked.

“I would hope so,” his squire muttered. “I work enough.”

“But you could be in better shape,” the king continued. Zahir gave him an incredulous look and was promptly ignored.

“Tighten your stomach muscles,” Jon commanded. He obeyed automatically, only to have his knight-master hit him hard in the torso, driving the breath from his lungs. He shouted, doubling over.

“What was _that_ for?”

His ruler grinned a little too gleefully. “You see? You should be able to deflect that blow simply by maintaining the tension.” He placed a hand on Zahir's abdomen, pushing in slightly. “All your strength should flow from your center.” His fingers trailed up his squire's stomach and chest, pressing lightly at his shoulders. “Don't carry your tension here. That will only make you less flexible.”

Zahir cleared his throat, attempting to concentrate on the lesson. “And flexibility is good,” he murmured.

“Yes. It always pays to be more agile than your opponent.”


	3. Butterfly

_“There is waiting to escape a butterfly”_

\-----

Jon lashed out, the blow aimed for Zahir's jaw. The squire ducked, catching his knight-master's wrist as he over-extended. A small tug unbalanced him, and the youth continued the motion to flip Jon over his shoulder.

The king thudded against the floor, but in his brief moment of celebration Zahir forgot to distance himself and a moment later a strong leg slapped into the backs of his knees, sending him tumbling. Before he could recover, Jon was on top of him, pinning his arms and legs to the ground.

“Well done,” his knight-master panted. “you're learning. But never assume that just because your opponent is down, he's also out.” He sat back, releasing Zahir's arms. “Where did you learn that move? The flip?”

“I made it up, I suppose.”

“Really? Impressive.” Jon ran a hand through his hair, the sweat from their exertion slicking it into messy spikes. “You're a natural fighter, you know. Agile, graceful, inventive. You'll surpass me soon.”

Zahir felt heat rise in his cheeks at the praise. “I doubt that,” he replied.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, broken by Jon's laugh. “I should let you up now.” He stood, offering a hand to his squire, who took it and pulled himself to his feet. He gave his knight-master a slight bow.

“Thank you for the lesson, Jon.”


	4. Tight Pants

_“And in tight pants a lot”_

\-----

“Zahir? Are you all right? You've been in there a while.”

“Yes, I'm fine. It's just . . . I think the tailors might have mixed up the measurements.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “What do you mean? Show me.”

Face hot, Zahir stepped out from behind his door. The king took one look at him and bit his lip in a fruitless attempt to keep from laughing aloud. Soon he was doubled over, gasping for air.

“It's not funny.”

“On the contrary,” Jon chuckled, “it's very funny. Hysterical, even.” He tilted his head to the side, running his gaze over the blushing squire in skin-tight breeches standing before him. “Is there a fabric shortage I haven't been appraised of? Or did a pretty young seamstress just have a burning desire to see you in something more . . . revealing?”

Zahir crossed his arms, attempting to restore some measure of his dignity. “Are you quite finished?”

Jon flashed a dazzling grin. “Never. But you may change now. We'll take them back. Unless you have plans to become a clown in the Players.”

“Uh . . . that might be problematic.”

“Joining the Players? I'm sure Evin Larse could help you.”

“No, taking them off. They're so tight . . . I—uh—I don't know if I can.”

“Well.” Jon raised his eyebrows. “That _is_ a dilemma.”


	5. Dance

_“He likes to dance a lot”_

\-----

“Today we're going to try something a little different.”

Zahir eyed his knight-master warily. “What?”

“I was thinking about our practice the other day, and I realized what's holding you back. You fight for yourself.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I wasn't aware I was supposed to show consideration for the person attacking me.”

“And that's just it. A fight is not conducted alone. It is an exchange, a connection between you and your opponent. You can't ignore or dismiss them. You must be aware of their movements and intentions in order to respond effectively. The best fights are the ones where you know you opponent, understand them. Which is why today we are going to dance.”

“I don't follow.”

“Like fighting, dancing is collaborative. It's a partnership, an unspoken contract. It is primarily physical, but must also be mental and emotional to achieve greatness. And, on a less philosophical level, it helps you move with grace and economy.”

“That doesn't make any sense. If dancing is so much like fighting, why can't we just fight?”

Jon's gaze turned steely. “First, because I do have care for my squire's well-being, and if you continue to lose to me, I ache just thinking of the bruises you'll build up. Second, because sometimes you need to look at something from a different angle to understand it. Third, because it would do you good to learn a non-combative activity. And fourth, because I am your knight-master and you will do as I say. Understood?”

Inclining his head in acceptance, Zahir dropped his gaze to the floor. “Understood, sir.” He didn't need to look up to feel Jon's reprimanding glance for the increased formality.

“Good. Then let's begin. Take my hand.” Zahir did as he was bidden, musing on how strange it was to feel his monarch's fingers close over his own. “Since I am certain you don't wish to make this a public event, we'll focus on the partner dances. I will lead.”

“Sir—”

“Jon.”

“ _Sir_ , when we learned dancing as pages, we weren't taught the follow's steps.”

Jon smiled. “I know. It will likely be rough going at first. But it's surprisingly easy; just don't let me run into you. As the follow, you should be completely at my command. If I push you backward, you should keep going until I stop you or you hit a wall. Don't anticipate my movements, don't attempt to control the situation. Simply let go, relax, and allow me to do the work.”

Zahir licked his suddenly dry lips. “Yes, Jon.”


	6. You Do

_“You know you do--I do?”_

\-----

Zahir groaned as he slammed against the floor, _again_ , Jon's strong hands pinning his wrists to the rough wooden planks. The king loomed over him, his body heavy on his squire's, his face flushed from the exercise, breath quick.

“You win,” Zahir gasped.

“I do.” Jon made no move to get up, his blue eyes bright with curiosity. “You're a great fighter, Zahir.”

“The current situation would beg to differ.”

“No, you are. You could beat me if you really tried.” The king leaned down, his hot breath caressing his charge's neck. “So why aren't you trying?” he whispered.

All the breath went out of Zahir as lightning rolled up his spine. He felt hot, then cold, his heart threatening to break his ribs. He closed his eyes, all too aware of his king's body lying flush with his. Against his will, a small moan escaped his slightly parted lips.

Jon grinned, pressing his mouth to Zahir's throat. “That's what I thought,” he murmured.


End file.
